


I'mma Be Under The Mistletoe

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>another tumblr fic for the xmas meme: nick/harry, accidental mistletoe feelings. shameless fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'mma Be Under The Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> FAKE FAKE FAKE !! Very fake. 
> 
> the title is from a little-appreciated gem of a christmas song by justin bieber with the choice lyrics: 
> 
> "I don’t wanna miss out on the holiday  
> But I can’t stop staring at your face  
> I should be playing in the winter snow  
> But I’mma be under the mistletoe
> 
> With you, shawty with you."
> 
> POETRY. Thanks, biebs.
> 
> tumblr? ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com SAY HI

"This is not bloody funny, Pix," Nick says, when she finally manages to make it happen, at half past-one on a Friday the week before Christmas. Nick’s had people round for dinner and drinks, and it turned into a bit of a party right before his eyes. It’s half-empty by now, though- just Pix and Aimee lounging about on the sofa, a few others scattered in the kitchen struggling to make cheese toasties in Nick’s barely-used cast iron skillet.

Harry Styles is drunk and pink-faced and giggling and placed -  _conveniently!_  Nick’s traitorous brain hisses- under the mistletoe hung between Nick’s front room and kitchen. 

"It’s Christmas!" Pixie says, pushing him. "Almost! Go on then. Look at him, all ripe for the taking." 

"Don’t be creepy," Nick says. "He’s pissed. He’s  _eighteen_.” 

"You’re pissed."   
  
"Well, yes," Nick admits. He’s a good three-quarters of a bottle of red wine deep, but he can still make good decisions. He’s an adult.

"Grimmy!" Harry says, leaning against the wall. "Grimmy, um. Come here for a minute." 

He dimples, beckons with one hand. “Want to show you something.” 

Nick blanches. 

"Alright, I did not make him say that," Pixie says into his ear. "I swear to God. I swear to  _Beyoncé_.” 

"Don’t swear to her, you’re not worthy," Nick says, and Harry whines, "Ni-ick." And then, right there, Nick sees him glance up at the mistletoe and then back at Nick, his jaw setting with a childlike sort of determination. Nick’s whole stomach flops with nauseous anticipation. Oh Christ.

Pixie snorts like a horse at this latest development. “If you don’t go I’m telling everyone in the world you had the chance to snog Harry Styles and didn’t go for it. Come on, Nicholas Grimshaw. Be a man about it.” 

"We’re not going to snog," Nick says firmly. "I’ll give him a peck. A friendly, mate-y, Christmas-y peck. On his pretty, pink, stupid awful mouth." 

"It is veryyyy pretty and veryyyy pink," she trills, shoving him with both hands, and Nick gulps the last of his wine and goes. 

Harry says, “Hi,” when Nick comes near, and then - “Uh. Want to try my drink?” 

"What is it?" Nick asks, and he can’t help it, he crowds Harry up against the wall, just a little. Harry looks like he bloody loves it, anyway- his whole body slumps and his eyes go half-mast and dark and he says, breathless and completely obvious about it, "I dunno. Vodka. I think." 

"Yep, that’s vodka," Nick says after a sip, making a face. "And not much else." 

"It’s yummy," Harry says, laughing a little. "Yum yum. Christmas. Hey. Nick." 

His face is red and he looks so delighted Nick can’t help but mirror it. 

"Yes, popstar?" he says, when Harry hasn’t said anything for a moment. 

"Um," Harry says, dropping his head so his curls swoop over his face, and Nick feels a swoop of terror in his chest. This is stupid. This is really really stupid and Harry’s drunk and-

"You’re under the mistletoe, stupid twats!" Pixie yells from across the room. "Kiss!" 

"Sod off!" Nick calls back, making a rude gesture, and when he turns back, Harry is looking at him with his clear green eyes wide and his lush, soft lips parted, practically begging for it. 

"S’Christmas," he says, nodding a couple times. Nick takes a brief moment to contemplate the absolute absurdity of his life. 

"It is, that," Nick agrees, because he’s an agreeable person, alright, and like magnets drawn together inevitable and smooth, they kiss. It’s brief and chaste and yet tantalizingly soft. Five seconds, no more - well, maybe ten- and not even a slip of tongue, but Nick still feels about twelve times more drunk than he did before it happened, and he stumbles back a step, his whole body thrumming excitedly like it’s finally gotten the memo and it’s primed and ready for more. 

Harry is licking his lips with a considering sort of face. His tongue is just as pink and pretty as his mouth. Nick gusts out a despairing sigh. He  _really_  wants to suck on it. 

"Mmm," Harry says, putting his drink down on Nick’s side table. Nick feels slightly like he’s being graded. He nearly gasps when Harry grabs his hand, his own soft and warm. 

"Right," he says, decided. "Where’s your bedroom?" 

"You’re - you alright?" Nick asks. "I mean." 

"Your bedroom, Grimmy," Harry says, enunciating a bit more loudly than necessary, and Nick hears Pixie and Aims collapse into giggles from the sofa. 

"Hush, you two," he says, threading his fingers through Harry’s. Harry squeezes hard, gives him a dazzling grin. 

"Right, off you go then!" Pixie says like a proud mum, and bursts into laughter again.

"Safe sex!" Aimee adds, her lipstick smeared all over the rim of her wineglass. Nick bloody hates both of them, but if they get him a massive hangover breakfast in the morning and never mention the sounds he plans to force out of Harry’s pretty pink mouth, he might just be forgiving. 

Harry tugs at his arm, and Nick trips after him. It’s stupid, probably, but it’s Christmas. Almost. It’s close enough, anyway, and on Christmas you’re supposed to get what you want. 


End file.
